Freezer Burn
by MLaw
Summary: Illya finds himself trapped in a life-threatening situation, with seemingly no one to rescue him. Originally posted on section7mfu, Live Journal for the Picfic Tuesday prompt. Pre-saga


He was shivering uncontrollably, though he was a person accustomed to the cold, but being trapped inside a walk-in freezer with the temperature slowly dropping was something no human being could tolerate for very long, not even one stubborn Russian.

Illya Kuryakin was barely dressed in a baggy white, sleeveless tee shirt; it was so large on him that he was able draw his arms inside and keep them crossed against his chest; that helped a little to combat the cold air. His legs and feet were covered by a pair of equally large grey sweatpants, with the legs so long as to give his bare feet much needed protection.

He kept moving, pacing and rubbing his arms with his hands as he tried to keep his body warm, and watched as his breath became white puffs of vapor right in front of his eyes. This had been going on for quite a while, and Illya knew it was only a matter of time before he sat down, fell asleep, and of course, froze to death.

The last he'd seen of his partner had been Napoleons lifeless body being dragged and thrown into a garbage truck outside in the alleyway beside the restaurant whose freezer in which he was now pacing.

The owner of the establishment, Antonio Vacarella, a member of T.H.R.U.S.H., was preparing to use his facilities to manufacture a newly devised toxin to send to their field operations. It was purported this formula would replace the sleep darts they currently used, with Central now opting to simply poison their victims as a new method of choice when it came to killing their enemies. It would be cheaper than bullets and more effective.

Napoleon was made their guinea pig, as they used their only sample on him. Illya had watched as a gun was aimed at Solo, and within seconds of the dart hitting the Americans neck, he was gone. The Russian still couldn't believe it, but at the moment he had to put aside his feelings regarding the passing of his friend.

Illya was alive for the moment, as he'd disposed of the formula...having memorized it before he tossed the small piece of paper into a bunsen burner in retaliation for it being used on his partner.

Now T.H.R.U.S.H. were making him suffer for not giving up the ingredients and the quantities used.

Vacarellas attitude was one of indifference though; the Russian wouldn't give him what he wanted, so he decided to let the U.N.C.L.E. agent die with the knowledge, making Kuryakins actions all for naught.

Their scientists would eventually rediscover the correct compound and begin production, but still, one more effort to get the blond agent to talk was worth a try...

"One last chance Kuryakin. Give me the formula and I will let you live, and go free," Vacarella's voice came over a small speaker near the freezer door.

"Gggo to hell," Illya's teeth chattered as he spoke.

"I think you will be there before me." Vacarella laughed heartily. "Say hello to your partner for me."

Illya Kuryakin had reached his limits, and sat down in a corner against stack of boxes...frozen peas; resigning himself to death as he simply closed his eyes, welcoming it in his sleep.

As he drifted off, he thought he felt warmer, imagining it was his subconscious invading his stupor. He envisioned the wall behind the family dacha back in Kyiv...the golden weeds flowing back and forth in the warm breeze. The sun was shining and in the distance near the woods he saw his family waving to him.

"lllya...Illyusha?" His mother called to him. "ILLYA!"

"Da, mama!" He awoke with a start. Instead of his mother, he stared at the dirty face of Napoleon Solo.

"Hey buddy, don't leave me now. We still have a lot of work to do." He wrapped his partner in a heavy blanket, pulling him to his feet, and briskly rubbing his arms and shoulders."

"I...I ttthought yyyou were dddead," Illya mumbled, his teeth chattering."And you smell terrible."

"Apparently another of T.H.R.U.S.H.'s formulas failed to meet quality control standards, lucky for me, that and the fact that Mark and April saw me thrown into the garbage truck didn't hurt. Keep your olfactory remarks to yourself if you please...this is another ruined suit I'll have to explain to accounting. Now,come on chum, lets get you out of here."

Napoleon helped his partner slowly hobble out of the freezer; Illya's eyes widening as he saw Mark Slate and April Dancer waiting in the kitchen.

"Hello guv, glad to see you're still alive," Mark smiled, along with his partner. "Napoleon we've gotten Vacarella and his men rounded up."

Solo sat the Russian down in a chair, continuing to maintain the warming friction by vigorously rubbing his partners back, arms and legs.

"Once the team has gone through his records in his office, I think we'll be done here," April added. She turned her attention to Illya. "Oh poor thing, look what they've done to you."

"Lads,"Mark chimed in."There's a pot of chicken soup on the stove, want I should ladle you a bowl Illya?"

The Russian nodded wordlessly, still shivering.

"How about soup all around Mark," Napoleon answered, "An impromptu celebration for a successful mission without any injuries."

"Excccept to my ppride and my zzhopa," Illya finally spoke up. "I think my bum is ffrozen."

"Would you like me to rub it for you darling?" April giggled.

"Perhaps later," Illya grinned, "but first some nice hot soup."

"Why Illya Kuryakin...aren't you the fresh one!"

"Well you offered…" Illya answered her without batting an eye. "And I think at the moment I would be classified as frozen, not fresh."

"Amazing what a bit of chicken soup can do mate," Mark looked at Napoleon with a rather mischievous grin.

"Tell me about it," Solo winced at his partner's attempt at humor.


End file.
